


A connecting string

by poeticjustice22



Category: Babylon Berlin (TV)
Genre: 2x08, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticjustice22/pseuds/poeticjustice22
Summary: An inevitable string had connected them ever since the car incident, perhaps even before that; bound them to each other forever in a way that was different from his bond with Helga. Not out of gratitude, obligation or pity. Something... else.





	A connecting string

**Author's Note:**

> 2x08. Spoilers ahead so do not read if you haven’t watched the entire two seasons yet.

He would never forget the smile on her surprised face when she was handed the well-earned police badge; hardly registering the smile that spread on his own.

The corners of her mouth trembled slightly but she didn’t cry.

Of course, she wouldn’t cry.

He had come to learn she was made of another matter. One he was still trying to understand.

Only hours earlier she had been revived from the land of the drowned in his arms, pale and fragile; all the unstoppable force gone from her, the life and spark that made her _her_. It too was a sight he could never prise from his retina. How her wilful spirit wouldn’t let him try and save her again, decisive of her fate, and made him roar and scream at her drowning intakes of water until her eyes went blank and dead. It had felt like a slash to his gut that he never wanted to relive. But he wouldn’t relent.

Thank God, he didn’t relent!

It was a stark contrast of relief to see her standing erect and alive before him now. A little worse for wear, but that was surely expected when one came back from the dead.

He still had a hard time grasping she had been lost to this world for a brief moment. Lost to him. _Twice_. How he had been almost out of his mind with worry when she had disappeared for hours, days, and he had combed the city for her, beating the living shit out of Bruno in his suspicions, then for her to suddenly reappear, ragged-looking, exhausted beyond measure, and yet with that inextinguishable fire still burning in her eyes, telling him about the train and Jänicke’s notebook when all he wanted to do was to let her rest, seeing she so obviously had been through a traumatic ordeal.

He feared where she had been, even more so when she had been reluctant to relay when he inquired, first angrily, then, later in the car, carefully, measured. Still, her headstrong, hard-set mind wouldn’t let him worry about her in the moment, but rather focus on the case, chasing a stupid train. He had wanted to scold her for it, but then their car had been driven off the road and flung into the water and all other thought but of her survival had been flung from his head as well. He knew he couldn’t go on without her. Couldn’t solve the case without her.

Now it was happiness and gratitude and a tad sadness that shone from her harrowed face, and he couldn’t help thinking she deserved so much more. That he would do so much more to see her smile like that again. Only happier, healthier.

He caught himself.

He loved _Helga_.

Helga, who was sweet, good, everything he could want in a companion and a future wife. She had seen him at his worst and loved him, despite of it.

He _knew_ her. He had dreamt of her. _Longed_ for her. Been torn apart for her, in every sense of the word. The guilt and the love all mixed up in one encompassing fire for years and years. And he sometimes wondered if that was what was wrong. Even when his brother was declared officially dead and he should no longer feel guilty.

Charlotte was...

He was not sure. An inevitable string had connected them ever since the car incident, perhaps even before that; bound them to each other forever in a way that was different from his bond with Helga. Not out of gratitude, obligation or pity.

Something... else.

He felt this young girl with her shrewd eyes, who seemed to have been flung out of space and dropped before him, could sometimes see right through him; his haunting shadows, his illness and the blood on his hands, and that she did not judge him for what she saw. Each step with her established something new and also re-established what he had come to know of her in a short amount of time; her ingenuity, her inquisitiveness, her devil-may-care forensic mind, her caring spirit fighting for justice. Vibrating just beneath the surface, she seemed to carry secrets too sombre, too shameful to share. Troubling things she wouldn’t let on. Too heavy a burden for a girl of such petite, malnourished stature to bear, and yet, her sheer force of will made her strong as an ox. She _had_ to be in order to survive for so long.

Just like him.

In so many ways, she reminded him of himself. Their dedication to the work in the homicide department. Their relentlessness in pursuing a case and getting to the truth. Their shared love of dancing, of all things.

It was almost frightening.

Had he been shocked to find she worked as a prostitute at a seedy place like Moka Efti during the night? Yes and no. It made sense somehow that the ennui that sometimes hid in her eyes was formed in this place. And given her desperation for money had led her there, he gathered she, like so many other young women in this business, came from straitened circumstances. And yet, he could hardly imagine a worse place for someone like her to be. She _shouldn’t_ be.

How had he not known before?

Well, for one, he had never stopped and asked. He had trusted her almost implicitly from the moment they had run into each other, and perhaps he put too much trust in other people, but they had become oddly depended on each other in solving this case. Wit matching wit. _True_ partners. A fact he had barely acknowledged despite he had relied so heavily on her, knowing she had no credits, no experience in the field yet counting on her instincts alone.

Sure, her little alliance with Bruno behind his back had been a chip in his trust in her, but he soon came to realize he had no moral high-ground acting judge and jury. He was just as guilty himself. The incident with Saint Joseph and the two police-murdered women proved that. More so, with his brother.

No, he had no right to send her away. For all he knew, she had surely been blackmailed by Bruno who seemed to have known the establishment down at Moka Efti a little _too_ well.

He wouldn’t even entertain the thought of what his corrupt former colleague had done to or with her, likely against her will.

How could he not forgive her for that? And again: Was he in any position to forgive _anyone_ for things he was perhaps ten times the guiltier for in his own doings?

He looked up and met Charlotte’s eyes. So many unsaid things were exchanged between them in a span of a moment; most prevailing, a promise of hope and future partnership.

He found he couldn’t look away.

Perhaps they had found redemption in each other. Perhaps their equal. Whatever it was that was between them, he hoped there never again was a reason for it to stop. For the string to snap, and the connection lost for good this time.


End file.
